


heaven (must be there)

by teatales



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (Harry was addicted to Dreamless Sleep), (just the therapist and an owl), (mentioned in passing), 80s Music, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Aromantic Hermione Granger, Auror Harry Potter (past), Auror Ron Weasley (past), Banter, Bisexual Harry Potter, Clubbing, Communication, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dancing, Demisexual Ron Weasley, Desi Harry Potter, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Families of Choice, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry Potter Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Harry Potter Needs a Hug, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Inspired by Music, Kissing, Literal Sleeping Together, Living Together, Love Bites, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Out, Mental Illness, Mutual Pining, Original Character(s), Past Drug Addiction, Past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Pet Names, Pining, Professor Harry Potter, Professor Neville Longbottom, References to Depression, Ron Weasley is a Good Friend, Ron works in George's shop now but there's no good tag for that, Sharing a Bed, Stressed Harry Potter, Therapy, Touch-Starved, Trans Harry Potter, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-23 21:49:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18558547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teatales/pseuds/teatales
Summary: Harry was overworking himself again. It wasn’t actually killing him like it was when he was an Auror, but he still felt the need to save the world, so to speak. To save everyone. Even if that ‘everyone’ was the poor grades of his fifth year defense class, and ‘saving’ them meant extra tutoring sessions on top of his regular teaching and grading and selected Boy-Who-Lived-Twice charity commitments.Ron could tell that his best mate was far too stressed, and knew he had to step in. If he got hurt in the process so be it - he loved Harry too much to stand idly by as he worked himself into the ground.Will Harry realise how much people care about him, and how much they want him to take care of himself? Will he recognise that he's deserving of love and happiness? Will a weekend together and a night of clubbing lead to something more between him and Ron? (Yes, yes, and oh yes).





	heaven (must be there)

**Author's Note:**

> Alternatively titled: Harry and Ron in various rooms, talking and being soft. 
> 
> First and foremost this fic is dedicated to Percy, without whom this truly wouldn't be possible. Percy - thank you for opening my third eye to the validity of Harry/Ron, for being there through constant spirals, and for always inspiring me with your galaxy brainage. You are the best cheerleader and supporter I could have ever asked for, and your reactions to my writing always leave me smiling (emotional rabies/like a shark I need to bite something is my _favourite_ thing of all time). Thank you for being my friend, my other half of our very specific fandom, and for being you. I love you. 
> 
> This fic was inspired by [Heaven (Must Be There) by the Eurogliders](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WHLxW-n-WT4). Please go listen to it if you haven't, it's a certified bop. The scene where it's playing at the club was originally all that this fic was going to be, but my hand slipped and I wrote 12,000 words around that. This is my longest fic that I've ever written and I hope you enjoy!

Harry was overworking himself again. It wasn’t actually killing him like it was when he was an Auror, but he still felt the need to save the world, so to speak. To save everyone. Even if that ‘everyone’ was the poor grades of his fifth year defense class, and ‘saving’ them meant extra tutoring sessions on top of his regular teaching and grading and selected Boy-Who-Lived-Twice charity commitments.

Ron could tell that his best mate was getting too wound up. It was obvious in the more-cramped-than-usual handwriting in Harry’s brief, tea-stained letters, as well as the forgetting of their weekly fire-calls. On the surface, it annoyed Ron. It’s not as if he was rich in spare time while working with George at the shop, and helping his various family members with their families. Having his friend repeatedly bailing on him was incredibly frustrating. But really, Ron’s feelings of frustration came from an undeniable concern for Harry’s welfare. He had always taken on so much, too much, by himself, and years later he still barely knew how to ask for help. The Mind Healer he saw regularly after the War assisted Harry a great deal, but in times of stress he tended to fall back on bad habits and coping mechanisms. Ron knew he had to step in.

Getting Harry out of the castle was a tough ask to begin with, especially without Hermione for help. She was off on the continent for some big conference, and Ron didn’t want to make her worry even more. A worried Hermione was a stressed Hermione, and that was dangerous for everyone. He knew he could always go to her if he wanted to, but this time he felt it was _his_ duty to take care of Harry all by himself. Well, and with a little help from a man on the inside.

***

Harry worried the skin at the edge of his thumb between his teeth as he looked over another poorly written essay. He couldn’t figure out what was wrong with this class, and a few students in particular. They seemed to get the practical _and_ the theory when he was there teaching, but as soon as it was time for a written assignment all of that went out the window. He bent his head closer to work out an illegible sentence, wincing as a sharp pain ran through his neck. He began to debate with himself as to whether he should turn in for the night and pick it up again in the morning, when a knock at the door interrupted him.  

Harry frowned to himself and cast a quick tempus. Although he was friendly with the rest of the staff he rarely entertained visitors in his quarters, and certainly not at an hour as late - or early - as this. He began to feel uncomfortably warm as panic began to rise in him - what if someone had gotten into the castle? Harry silently rose from his chair and glanced around the room, habitually checking the exists, even in the semi-darkness. He knew how invaluable it was to be able to navigate a room without sight, even if he hadn’t needed that particular skill for several years. As he crept towards the door, wand poised, his vision blurred around the edges and his thoughts grew louder. He forced himself to stop in place. Harry cast his mind back to his sessions with Healer Smith and the techniques she had taught him to handle his so-called _panic response._ He forcibly relaxed his arms, and took a deep breath as his wand hung loosely at his side. Another knock, this time more hesitant. Harry reminded himself that he had personally added wards to the castle, and that he and his loved ones were safe as he opened the door to find–

“Neville?”

Before him stood the Herbology professor, looking slightly concerned and rumpled in a tartan robe and slippers, like something had awoken him and summoned him to Harry’s door.

“Hello, Harry. I figured you would be up marking those essays but then when you didn’t answer the door I thought you might be asleep for once...” Neville drifted off.

“No! No, nope, uh, just marking those essays like you said. Um.” Harry said, looking either side down the corridor. “Did you need something?”

“Oh right! Yes! I did. Well _I_ didn’t actually need something I, um, found this book? Earlier today and y’know that thing when you only remember something _just_ as you’re about to fall asleep and you know that if you don’t get up right that second you’ll forget about it til the end of time? Well, this was like that, so I thought I should come,” Neville removed a small leather-bound book from one of his robe pockets, “and give it to you. Before I forgot.”

Harry hesitated. There had been a number of attempts in his life to give him cursed or fatal objects, but besides the nervous rambling which remained even after his confidence growth, Neville seemed like himself. He held his hand out for the book and as soon as he touched the books surface, he felt it.

“ _NO!_ ” Harry yelled as the Portkey took a hold of him and Neville, the world spinning out around him. He tried to shake it and Neville off but Neville got a tight grip on Harry’s back and refused to let go. They fell into the middle of a garden, Harry quickly springing up with his wand pointed towards Neville, his chest rising and falling quickly. Neville rose more slowly, both out of exhaustion, and because he didn’t want to scare Harry anymore than he had.

“I’m sorry about this, mate. I really am. We just couldn’t figure out another way to get you out of there. If you want to blame anyone though, it was definitely Ron’s idea more than mind. I was just the accomplice.” Neville held his hands up in surrender. 

“Oi!”

The sound came from behind Harry and he spun around to confront it. He realised it was coming from the house to which the garden belonged, and that he knew the speaker.

“Ron?” Harry’s wand arm fell to his side in shock. Ron was leaning against the verandah railing, his arms crossed and his brow furrowed.

“Yeah. As far as I’m aware. Who else would it be, mate?” Ron pushed off the verandah and made his way down the stairs towards the shocked man. Harry’s shoulders finally went limp and he stumbled the short distance to crash into his best friend. All he could feel was _warm_ and _love_ and _safe,_ no longer filled with the cold dread and panic that had been plaguing him since Neville knocked on his door.

Neville coughed, looking a tad awkward as he examined some peonies. 

“If that’ll be all, Ron?”

Harry slowly extracted himself from his friend’s embrace and stood nervously to the side.

“Yeah, mate, thanks. Are you sure you’re alright to walk back up to the castle in...that?” Ron asked, glancing down at Neville’s worn slippers.

Neville shot them a bemused look. “If I can face down Moldywarts, I’m sure I can make it across the grounds unharmed.” He disapparated with a _pop_ , loud in the still night air.

Harry examined the space that Neville had just been occupying, then turned back to his friend.

“Ron, seriously, what’s this about? One minute I’m marking essays in my study and the next I’m here all the way past Hogsmeade. And why was Neville, of all people, involved?” Harry crossed his arms as he stared down Ron. Which would have been successful if not for the four inches Ron had on him.

“I’m worried about you mate. Truly. And I knew the only way to get your stubborn arse out of the castle,” he pointed a thumb in the vague direction of Hogwarts, “and out of your stress spiral was by force. Neville was more than happy to oblige. Now, no more accusations and wand pointing tonight, we both need sleep. Come on.” Ron turned around and went into the house, pointedly not looking back as if he expected Harry to follow. Harry huffed for a moment, then sheathed his wand and begrudgingly entered the house.

***

After the war, Ron and Hermione got a small apartment in Wizarding London close to this Ministry. This suited them as Ron progressed through Auror training and Hermione did her correspondence NEWTs course. They only stuck it out another six months, and after one too many rows decided that they would be better as friends. Ron moved in with Harry full time, assisting him and Kreacher to clean out Grimmauld Place. This left the pair stressed at work _and_ at home whilst practically living in each other’s pockets. After a long, taxing year, Ron finally quit being an Auror. He begged George for a job, briefly moved back to The Burrow after things were two tense with Harry, but quickly rented out a small cottage on the outskirts of Hogsmeade close to the second shop George had opened there. He didn’t look back.

Harry, as always, was a different story. Living in a basically cursed building with an antagonist house elf, chasing down criminals all day and juggling the pressures of his celebrity left Harry almost broken. After Ron moved out, he rarely left the house besides going to work. He barely saw his friends and family, and was using Dreamless Sleep nightly to cope with the memories that were triggered during the day. He tried to push everyone away, his notorious fifth year temper coming back with a vengeance. Ron and Hermione stood by him, of course, even from a distance. There are some things you can't share without ending up as family, and hunting down fragments of a person’s soul is one of them.

It took a lot of convincing, of course, to get Harry to relent. Everyone he was close with in fact – his Mind Healer, several Hogwarts portraits, McGonagall, and even Draco-bloody-Malfoy himself to ultimately convince Harry to quit the Aurors and do literally _anything_ else. Even then he still felt guilty, like he was letting down everyone he cared about as well as the whole of the wizarding world. Ron in particular helped reigned his head in. Who did Harry think he was? Did he _really_ believe all the Chosen One hype? Now, after everything, keeping the world running was all down to _him?_ As if. So Harry quit, and Ron physically held him down until he promised to move out of that almost definitely cursed building and in with him. Harry agreed.

Harry and Ron had everything decorated in horrific clashes of Gryffindor scarlet and gold and Chudley Cannons orange. They baked together - a hobby recommended by Healer Smith to help Harry feel in control and safe with food, and and something Ron began after being _strongly_ encouraged to learn Molly’s family recipes. They played chess, and drank, and hung out with Hermione and their friends. Harry also worked on the garden, and they both flew around the adjacent field whenever they liked. It was... peaceful. Idyllic, even. Harry never thought he would have something like this. This friendship, this _family._ He never really let himself, certainly not during or after the war. But he was beginning to accept that it was possible.

Their life together wasn’t always easy. Harry had PTSD, trauma from his childhood and from the war. His nightmares got worse around certain times of year and especially in winter. His recovery from his Dreamless Sleep addiction was hardest then, and their found family were always extra vigilant of how he was doing.

Ron, too, dealt with his own problems from the War and childhood, including his low self esteem that crept back in at the lowest times. Their first big row after Harry moved in was a learning curve - Ron’s anger got the best of him, and his raised voice left Harry catatonic, flinching away when Ron came up to check on him. An emergency fire-call to Harry’s therapist followed by a long chat over a bottle of firewhisky left Ron shell shocked, refusing to let go of Harry for most of the night. Now Ron never raised his voice, and he did his best to avoid touching Harry without warning. And when Harry disappeared into the upstairs wardrobe, Ron called him out with soft words and treacle tart. Or, when it was really bad, just sat on the other side of the door, reading aloud Harry’s muggle stories. It wasn’t always easy. But they had each other, and their friends and family, jobs they both actually liked, and were getting better all the time.

That’s what Harry thought about when he stepped into the living room. All the times, good and bad, that he and Ron had shared in their house, in their home. It felt like he hadn’t been there in months.

“C’mon, mate,” Ron spoke gently, leading Harry up the stairs to their bedrooms. Harry followed in a slight daze, his exhaustion finally catching up with him.

Once they made it to the first floor, Harry went to turn right into his room and finally get some sleep.

“Harry.”

He paused, hesitantly turning around to meet Ron’s gaze in the dimly lit hallway.

“C’mon, mate,” he murmured, “you know you’ll sleep easier in here,” he gestured with his head.

“But–” Harry began to protest.

“Please, Harry. Just...” Ron hesitated, “Just let someone take care of _you,_ for once.”

Harry blinked a few times, opening his mouth to argue and then closed it with a sharp click.

“O-okay. Okay. I’ll just–” he pointed to his clothes and his room. Paused for a moment, then went inside to get changed, shutting the door softly behind him.

***

Ron stared up at the ceiling. Tonight was both going to plan and diverging far, far away from it. He knew that a weekend away from the stresses of his job and himself would be benefit Harry greatly. Whether Ron himself would get hurt in the process was another question.

“Ron?” Harry knocked quietly on the door frame. The door to Ron’s bedroom was wide open and the duvet was pulled back on the other side of the bed, but still Harry was insistently respectful of other peoples’ space. 

“C’mon. It’s already later than I thought Neville would drop you off anyway. We both need sleep.” Harry smiled slightly at the notion of ‘dropping him off’.

He pushed away from the door, his arms wrapped around himself instinctively as he did when he was nervous. He shuffled his way towards the bed and sat down on the edge, facing away from his friend.

“Harry,” Ron whispered, slightly amused. “I know for a fact you can’t sleep sitting up like that. Up against a tree, maybe, but not this. C’mon, would you? We’ll talk in the morning. And by morning I mean late afternoon. Can’t we jus’ _sleep_? Please?” 

Ron’s pleading caused the tension to leave Harry’s shoulders, and he moved to take off his glasses and put them on the night stand. He then burrowed under the covers at the far edge of the bed, while he silently dimmed the lights to a lower level, leaving them still on as he preferred. Ron always let him set them on nights like this. Harry couldn’t stand the utter darkness anymore.

Once Harry put his wand away they lay facing each other, Ron’s outline golden at the edges in the candlelight. He reached out a hand towards Harry.

“Mate. Come here, would you?” 

Harry grabbed the warm hand and slowly slid towards him, finding himself enveloped and tucked under Ron’s chin. He found the sold _thump thump thump_ of Ron’s heartbeat comforting, and the homely warmth and smell let him drift off into a golden slumber.

***

Harry woke as if he were drifting through honey. His eyes stuck shut, his mouth dry, his whole body almost unbearably, gloriously warm. He snuggled deeper into the softness that surrounded him, luxuriously stretching his arms out in front of him when he collided with something solid. He paused. Harry delicately opened his sleep-filled eyes to find himself face to face with a pleased looking Ron. _Oh._

“Afternoon, mate,” Ron spoke, looking down at the shocked professor. “Cor, I knew you weren’t taking care of yourself but seriously, Harry. Didn’t know you were _that_ behind in sleep. For a minute there I thought someone had bewitched you or something.”

Harry lay frozen, scared of what his hands might do if he allowed them to move. 

“Sorry,” he muttered, looking away from Ron. “I’m fine, I promise. You don’t need to… _worry_ about me.” 

Ron stayed silent for a moment. 

“And that, my friend, is what we are discussing over breakfast! Or is it dinner? Brinner? Food, which will be served in the kitchen promptly so you better wipe that gunk off your face. Honestly, don’t know what those gossip rags are talking about. H _andsomest wizard in Britain,_ they say….” Ron said as he padded out of the room. 

Harry sat up, wiped at his eyes and shoved on his glasses. Time to face the music.

***

After as long a shower as he dared with Ron promising an interrogation, Harry made his way downstairs and into their kitchen. Everyone had tried to put their two knuts in when Harry moved in with Ron, criticising everything from the cupboard handles to the floorboards to the light fixtures. A lot of it stemmed from the fact that Molly had the most voracious opinions, and Ron’s various siblings loved to contradict her just to prolong the argument to see Ron suffer. Eventually they managed to delicately kick their loved ones out, and with the help of some strategically-placed wizarding decor magazines left by Hermione, they managed to negotiate what they both wanted their home to look like. 

Ron hadn’t done anything to the place since he had moved in, but now the kitchen was everything Harry had dreamed. A detached island bench top, an almost Hufflepuff-yellow on the walls and enough storage space to keep all of Harry’s baking equipment. Although they both loved magic, a lot of the time they cooked the muggle way, preferring to have control of the finished product whenever they had the time. Magic was useful for repetitive chopping and stirring, but wasn’t at all helpful when adjusting flavour. And using too much of it almost left the food with a strange metallic taste, so they mainly relied on muggle methods.  Where Harry stood in the doorway he could see Ron’s back bent over the stove, the smell in the air indicating that bacon, eggs and toast were on today’s menu.

Ron turned around, smiling when he saw Harry there. 

“Finally got yourself together, eh mate? Get the plates and stuff would you? This is just about done.” 

Harry silently walked around Ron to get the two plates and sets of cutlery, stopping for a moment in hesitation.

“Just at the bench is fine today, Harry. Nothing formal about brinner,” Ron spoke without turning around, his amusement obvious at his own joke.

Harry’s difficulties with making choices were only exacerbated after the War. Sometimes he felt so pressured to make the _right_ decision that he froze completely, terrified of how those around him would react. After the Great Breakdown of 2000 as Ron privately called it, he secretly wrote to Healer Smith asking what he could do to help Harry. She referred him onto a six week course for friends and family of those most affected by the war. Although Ron had been affected himself, Harry was the one who needed significant support and as always, Ron wanted to do anything he could to help his best mate. And so Ron learnt various strategies and methods to support Harry as he worked through his trauma, including to help him with decision making. 

Ron turned off the stove and carefully dished out the food onto the awaiting plates, mindful to keep the fat from spitting at Harry. He placed the pan back on the stove and sat down at the bench, quickly digging into the food. Harry ate more languidly, which he sometimes did when feeling nervous or thoughtful. Most of the time he scoffed down his food, a habit from when he was growing up and didn’t know when it would be taken away from him.

A few minutes passed in silence as the men ate, then Ron put his knife and fork down, turning to Harry.

“So. How about you let me say my piece and then you can try to argue all you like, alright?” 

Harry pursed his lips as he looked at his plate but nodded, ready for a verbal thrashing.

“Mate. I’m so proud of you, you know?” Harry’s head jerked up, eyes wide while Ron continued.

“I know you’ve been through so much, and you had so many hurdles to overcome. But you went to therapy, and you, eventually, listened to us and got out of the Ministry, and you’re doing something you _actually_ enjoy. I know you’re hard on yourself and won’t listen to compliments but Harry, I work in Hogsmeade. Those kids have nothing but praise for you. And I know the staff do too. People talk, you know that, and they’ve always talked about you. But you are a good teacher, Harry,” he paused, trying to keep a hold of himself as he got choked up. 

“You are a _great_ teacher. And I just can’t stand by and watch you kill yourself over proving that to people when anyone with sense can see that you are doing a remarkable job! I have watched you suffer through so much and I refuse to let you turn this into just another thing you have to slog through, another obligation that other people have expectations for. So consider this intervention 2.0, okay? I am here for you, and I want you to get better. Because I know this isn’t you, Harry. I remember how excited you were to get back to Hogwarts, to be living their full time, to be teaching again. You were so happy and...carefree. It was one of the few times I had seen you like that, and we’ve been mates for almost a decade! So that’s where I’m at. And Hermione, too. She knows all about this,” he gestured between himself and Harry. “We care about you, mate. So much. You won’t be able to push us away.” 

Ron slumped back in his chair, relieved he had finally got all of that off his chest. Harry was looking back down at his lap, frozen. 

“Mate? You okay? Relatively speaking, I mean?” Ron asked, concern obvious in his voice. 

Harry cleared his throat. “Yeah, yeah. Just, uh, give me a minute?” 

“‘Course.” Ron got up, grabbing their dishes to put them in the sink. He was walking around the bench and back into the kitchen proper when he was grabbed from behind. He tensed, knuckles going white around the plates as he held them above his head. He bit his lip to keep from shrieking, and glanced down to see that it was Harry’s arms wrapped around his middle, hugging tightly. Ron relaxed, shifting the plates into one hand to bring his other down and squeeze Harry’s arms. As quickly as he had latched on Harry let go abruptly, standing back and wrapping his arms around himself.

“Sor-“ “Don’t, Harry. You know what I’ve said. Touch me whenever you want, yeah?” With that, Ron preceded to the sink.

Harry carefully sat back onto his chair as Ron filled up the sink. He barely heard Harry over the din of plates clashing. 

“I am sorry, though,” Harry all but whispered as he tugged at his sleeve, “for putting you through this… again. I know it’s not easy. I know I’m not, hah, easy to deal with. So yeah, I am sorry. And I’m grateful. I don’t know what I would do without you, Ronald Weasley,” Harry’s face scrunched up in a slight smirk as he used Ron’s full name. Ron smirked back at him, eyes meeting for a brief moment before Harry grew serious, looking off into the middle distance. 

“I haven’t been doing... great. And I know I put too much pressure on myself, you and Hermione and Healer Smith have been telling me that for years. I think I would have been fine- okay, not fine, don’t look at me like that, if it weren’t for my fifth years. Honestly, I don’t know what’s _wrong_ with them. They understand everything in class but their essays are just shocking. And then of course I wanted to do everything I could to help them so I set up some extra tutoring sessions, but that took more out of me than I expected, and then I felt bad because I couldn’t even do my _job_ correctly, something I used to win a fucking _war._ How could I face you after that? And Hermione, and Luna, and all the family, even fucking Draco, my snobby former-enemy-slash-colleague and quasi-cousin who I don’t even _like,_ the majority of the time. I was even worried about what he would say! So I, y’know, put my nose to the grindstone, tried to get their marks to improve, and I just got so focused on them I couldn’t _think_ about anything else besides my _failure_ and so I entered my _stress spiral_ as you so lovingly call it and, well, here we are. Again,” Harry tugged at his hair in frustration.  

“Harry, look. A, there is literally nothing in the world besides you becoming the next Snakeface himself that would mean you wouldn’t be able to talk to me, alright? And B, yes, you entered your stress spiral again, but we both not that recovery isn’t linear, Luna literally embroidered that into a wall hanging for you so you wouldn't forget. And this is so much better than how you’ve dealt in the past even if you don’t feel like it.” Ron took his hands out of the sink and dried them, feeling that soap covered limbs weren’t appropriate for this conversation. 

“So, you dropped off the face of the planet communication-wise, and you haven’t been taking the best care of yourself on the day-to-day. This is nowhere _near_ your Dreamless Sleep addiction, or the resulting snogfest that was plastered across the Prophet, yeah? But back to the previous point. You know there are so many people who care about you, you don’t just have to talk to me or Hermione. I mean don’t get me wrong, mate, I would love it if you did, but if there’s too much history or something there, there’s always your other friends you could reach out to.” 

Harry’s shoulders were hunched as he folded more into himself.

“If I was such a _burden_ you could have just _told_ me, Ron,” he spat out, hands shaking in his lap.

“Shit, mate. No, Merlin. You never are! I didn’t mean _that_! I meant you could go out there, get a relationship, or something. You could be friends with literally anyone you wanted to! I just thought ‘cause you weren’t talking to me that maybe there was, y’know, someone better out there for you,” he gestured with a slightly soapy hand, “someone who would help you more.” 

“Ron-”

“Forget I said anything, it was stupid of me.” 

“No, Ron, I can’t. I won’t. Ron, look at me, would you?” Harry pleaded.

Ron hesitantly met his gaze. Harry slipped off his chair and came around to the sink side of the bench, half a metre away from Ron. 

“Ronald Bilius Weasley. _You_ are my best mate. You have been since that first bloody Hogwarts Express ride, you were all through our fucking terrifying and frankly insane secondary schooling, and you were certainly my best mate when we went on the fucking run to hunt down Horcruxes. Especially then. Because even though you left, you came back. You _came back,_ Ron,” Harry’s voice cracked, “and saved us. Saved me. Constantly pulled my head in when I was being ridiculous or self deprecating or reckless. Over all these years. So no, I don’t need someone _better._ It _was_ stupid of you to say. I love _you,_ I just need a better brain, for Merlin’s sake.”

They stared at each other a moment, then broke into matching grins. Ron wiped his hand again on the tea towel nearby, then turned to face Harry properly.

“Come here?” Ron asked, his arms open as he stood still, holding his breath. 

Harry took the two steps forward that placed him next to Ron, tucked under his chin as always. Ron carefully wrapped his arms loosely around Harry’s back. Harry gripped on more tightly, his hands fisted in the soft fabric of Ron’s t-shirt. The minutes ticked on, silent but for the general hum of their home and the steady in and out of their breaths.

Harry soon relaxed his grip, Ron’s embrace of him immediately broke allowing Harry to step back. His eyes were clearly damp but Ron knew better than to mention it.

“I know we’ve completely exceeded our emotions quota for the day but before we move on. I just. I don’t think relationships are...for me,” Harry said slowly.

“Like ‘Mione? Mate, you know that’s more than okay. She made us sit through a whole presentation about how okay it is. I know we’ve still got the pamphlets somewhere.”

“No, no. Not like Hermione. Well, kind of. Just. It’s not happening. For now. Maybe ever.” Harry admitted, looking off to one side. 

“Mate...you know no one will care if you date a bloke, right? No one who matters, anyway. It’s not about that... is it?,” Ron frowned at the thought.

“It’s...fine? I don’t. I don’t really want to talk about it right now,” Harry finished quietly.

“Okay. Thank you for telling me,” Ron paused. “As much as I Portkey’d you down here to have a deep and meaningful chat, I missed you mate. Truly. And that is why,” Ron clapped his hands together, “tonight we are having some quality! Mate! Time!” he declared, striking poses to emphasise the three last words.

“Are we now?” Harry smirked. “And what, pray tell, do you have planned?”

“We are going dancing!” with that exclamation, Ron burst into some truly daggy dance moves, complete with - to Harry’s horror - hip thrusts. Harry’s peals of laughter filled the room, his eyes wide in shock at the sound. Sometimes his childhood habits could be broken, and there was nothing more beautiful to Ron than the actual _sound_ of Harry’s laughter instead of his usually silent chuckling.

“We are, huh?” Harry asked, shaking his head and smiling.

“Yes! So you need to go put on those jeans even Malfoy ogles you in, don’t even try to pretend you don’t know. Come on, upstairs with you, there we go.”

Harry knew better than to argue.

***

After his shower, Harry stared at his blurry reflection in the fog covered mirror. He knew he didn’t look completely okay yet, the effects of a term’s lack of sleep clearly written on his face. But even the sleep and food he had that day had a noticeable effect. But what was he thinking? A night on the town wasn’t going to improve his classes’ marks. And he still had that marking to catch up on, and lesson plans and reports to write. He felt warm all over, his hands shaking where he gripped the sink. Harry’s heartbeat drowned out the sounds of Ron puttering around in the hallway and it soon felt impossible to draw in a breath. He was startled out of his head by a knock at the bathroom door.

“Alright, mate? Can I come in?” Ron asked through the door, not making a move to even turn the handle before Harry consented.

“No! Fuck, can’tbreathe,” Harry gasped, bracing himself against the sink, trying to ground himself with the cool of the ceramic.

“Harry, mate, with me, yeah? In,” Ron took an exaggerated breath so Harry could hear him, “and out.” Harry tried his best to copy him, shakily taking longer and deeper breaths. After a few minutes the adrenaline had stopped coursing through his body, leaving him exhausted. He opened the door, almost running into Ron who was plastered against the other side.

“Alright mate?” Ron asked.

Harry gave a half-shrug. “Okay, I guess. I just don’t think tonight is a good idea. I mean, what if something happens?,” he looked past Ron’s shoulder, “and I still have so much work to get through. I don’t know if a night out is the best plan.”

“Harry. If you genuinely believe, free of guilt and what have you, that the best thing for you to do tonight is go back up to the castle, of course you can go. But you are allowed to have a night off, y’know. Maybe even several. And besides, I got ‘Mione to give me her approved and certified list of safe Muggle clubs, yeah?,” he said, pulling a list from his pocket.

Harry’s gaze slipped back onto Ron’s face, searching for a moment.

“Okay. If you’re sure.”

“Positive. I would’ve suggested something here at home like flying but with the way you’re wound up you would fly to London. Consider this one of Smith’s recommended ‘grounding physical activities’, yeah? And send her a letter in the morning. You need to talk to her, maybe even start up your regular appointments again.”

“You’re right, Ron,” Harry spoke softly. “I will”.

“You have no idea how much that pleases me to hear you say that. I’m right? Merlin, is it my birthday?,” Ron joked, looking wistfully at the ceiling. Harry blushed. “C’mon, let’s go eat. No drinking on an empty stomach after what happened last time, I don’t think Hermione spoke to us for a week after we killed that plant of hers.”

***

The pair apparated to one of the designated spots in Glasgow, close to the location of the first club on Ron’s list.

It was fairly early so it was only a short while before they got in using their muggle IDs. They headed straight to the bar, Ron buying a pint and Harry some sugary cocktail that was the evening’s special. They wound their way to a table overlooking the dance floor that wasn’t too close to the speakers and settled in. Harry drew up his knee, resting his face against it as he stared into his drink. Ron nudged his other leg with his foot, prompting him to look up.

“If you really want to go, just say so, yeah? I’m only having fun if you are.”

“No, it’s not that. I’m just. Thinking, I guess.”

“Fair enough. Hey, what do you think Hermione’s going to bring us back from France? D’you think she’ll get me that no hangover wine like I asked? And the croissants?”

***

The night went on, Ron and Harry going to two more clubs in search of better music and more cocktails for Harry. They drunk slowly, hanging back in corner booths and tables, with Harry not yet relaxed enough to step foot on the dance floor.

Ron was a patient man. Getting Harry to even marginally let go and get out of the house was a big step, he didn’t care if they didn’t even dance at all. Just that Harry was open to the possibility was enough. More than.

The current club they were in only played retro tunes, over which Harry was animatedly discussing the future possibilities of the defense syllabus that was still being developed and revised post-War. There was set to be more of a focus on the art of dueling, the longstanding tradition that went out the window as soon Voldemort turned up again. Ron couldn’t help but smile at seeing his friend so excited. He was paying slightly more attention to his movements than the content of the speech, which resulted in Harry sheepishly trailing off.

“You weren’t listening at all, were you? Sorry, god, you didn’t want a night out with me talking about _curricula_ of all things, did you?”

“Mate, you don’t need to apologise. I may have gotten a bit lost after the bit about _developmentally appropriate strategies,_ but it’s cause I was distracted by how happy you looked. No need to be sorry about that.”

“Alright. Good excuse mate, but I think you might be getting a liiittle tipsy, eh?” 

“Heh, maayyybeee,” Ron said, echoing Harry’s drawn out tone. “Your future-curriculum-talk-thing does have me thinking about something. Mum has been harassing me about my single-ness again and I am genuinely considering to sic Hermione on her for one of her educational lectures. Honestly.”

“I don’t want to be insensitive but you did actually come out to her... didn’t you?”

“Yes. Twice,” Ron moaned, dropping his head into his hands. “But she still thinks I’m just ‘fussy’ instead of, y’know, demi. It doesn’t even matter because I’m doomed to be forever alone anyway. Just wish she would stop asking, for fuck’s sake.”

“Ron you’re _not_ going to be forever alone. Not if you don’t want to be. The right person will come along. They might be right under your nose, even!” Harry said comfortingly.

Ron did his best to keep the longing off of his face. “Yeah, mate. You’re probably right,” he smiled, drained the rest of his beer. “Enough of this boring adult nonsense. Are you ready to dance?” He waggled his eyebrows.

Harry’s glass had been empty for a while, so he had nothing to do but stand up, grabbing Ron’s hand.

“Yeah, I think I am,” and with that, pulled his friend on to the packed dance floor.

Initially they stayed at the borders, Harry keeping his eyes on the exists as they shuffled in place. The DJ was working their way through most of the 80s it seemed like, a slower song interjected every dozen or so. The pair got some strange looks, with Ron having to nudge Harry’s gaze back on him to stop him from worrying. Harry’s breath noticeably relaxed whenever Ron managed that. 

Despite the waves of anxiety rolling of Harry, that didn’t stop a lot of people from hitting on him. Their eyes swept him up and down, lingering on his arse and shoulders. A few glanced at Ron and backed off, others seemed to size him up and accept the challenge. Their hands brushed over Harry; his hips, his waist, his shoulders. They tried to turn him away from Ron, draw him deeper into the crowd, make him theirs. He shrugged them off, some more forcefully than others, inching closer to Ron every time. The alcohol had finally hit Harry, settling into a buzz beneath his skin like another sort of magic. An uptempo beat under a wailing woman’s voice rang in his ears, echoing in his head. For once, all he could hear was the music. Decidedly he tugged on Ron’s hand, leading him into the middle of the dance floor. They were pressed together amidst the jostling crowd, but all Harry could feel was safe. He closed his eyes, swaying to the beat as best his could in the limited space, hands gliding through the air around him. Ron stared, swaying side to side but his eyes never leaving Harry. As the song reached the final chorus the movements of the crowd got faster, pushing the pair even closer together. Harry opened his eyes slightly, bringing his arms down and smiling as he wrapped his arms around Ron’s neck.

“This okay?” he mouthed, frowning slightly at Ron’s unblinking expression. He nodded, still staring as the song finished and faded into the next. This was slower, a melodic peal making way for the all too close to home confessions of the vocalist.

 

_Oooooo ooh, I want to find a better place_

_Oooooo ooh, I'm searching for a better place_

 

Harry closed his eyes again, swaying and humming to himself as he took in the lyrics. He was tired, always waiting for something better to come along, things to finally be okay. He knew it was getting better... but he wanted the happily ever after. He was the hero, the _Saviour;_ he slayed the dragon but all he got was a fucked up brain and an even messier life. No princess in sight. And yet, he was hopeful. If he put the effort in he could remember when things were better. When he was in therapy and was actually taking care of himself. He couldn’t remember the exact feeling but he knew, objectively, that it was possible. That it was _allowed._ And that he could get there again.

Harry opened his eyes, meeting Ron’s which were now seemingly closer than before. Ron - a literal, physical representation of all the support he still had in his life. The people who loved him and wanted him to love himself. Ron stood still amongst the ever shifting crowd, looking slightly worried about the thoughtful stillness on Harry’s face. Harry brought one hand off the back of Ron’s neck and gestured to his face, making the universal expression for “sorry, thinking”. Ron nodded, smiling slightly. The alcohol continued to flow through Harry, making him feel sort of... fuzzy.

Ron was so _good_. He was so nice to Harry, all the time! They were best friends, and family, and housemates. Ron was so caring and funny and thoughtful. And handsome. Harry loved him so much! Couldn’t imagine life without him anymore. Wouldn’t know what to do. He smiled, laughing to himself. Ron grinned back, amused at the conversation Harry was having with himself. Harry stared at Ron, studying the myriad of freckles across his face. His floppy orange hair, the bridge of his nose, his beautiful smile. His pink lips.

Oh. Harry loved Ron. Harry _loved_ Ron. The sky was, well, mostly grey, actually. Water was wet. Harry was a bisexual, Indian, mentally ill wizard who loved Ronald Bilius Weasley more than he loved treacle tart. Bugger.

***

_Oooooh ooh I'm always trying to escape_

_Oooooh ooh I never know which road to take_

 

Ron loved Harry. Always, forever, completely. But nothing quite compared to how he looked when he was peaceful. When he relaxed and let go and let himself be happy for once. When Ron first realised he was attracted to Harry, it nearly bowled him over. They were at the pub, eating chips, when Harry got some sauce on his face. Instead of reaching for a napkin like an adult person, he reached his tongue out impossibly far to lick it off. _Fuck._ Ron’s face flushed as his trousers began to feel uncomfortably tight. He hadn’t felt such undeniable want in such a long time. Thank goodness for the table hiding his lap. He managed to get through lunch and apparate home without splinching himself, barely getting his bedroom door closed before he was coming harder than he ever had in his life. As he collapsed onto his bed, Ron couldn’t help but think about Harry. His best mate. His adopted brother. And how he was almost certainly in love with him.

Ron couldn’t do anything about it. Harry was just starting up at Hogwarts - his mental health improving greatly with the help of his mind healer. He couldn’t risk jeopardising that, making things awkward for Harry and alienating him with his attraction. Besides, there was no way Harry would ever look at him like that. Not in a million years.

***

The bass seemed to rock through Harry’s bones as the song continued, the crowd jostling the pair just a little closer. The movement shook Harry from his haze and this seemed the most natural thing in the world. Inevitable, unavoidable. Harry Potter loves Ron Weasley. No more, no less.

A tilt of the head, a few mouthed words. Ron’s eyes widened, but how could he ever deny Harry anything? Their lips met.

Soft, wet heat. The entirety of Harry’s existence condensed down to this, only this. He only began where he and Ron met; lips and mouths and tongues. The other people in the club, only centimetres away on the tightly packed dance floor, disappeared. The only people in the room, in the world, were Harry and Ron and their love. Harry felt incredibly dizzy with it, the sheer humidity enveloping the pair like a second skin, his joy filling him like a balloon. He pulled back, resting his forehead against Ron’s, drawing in some much needed breaths.

Ron’s eyes were bright and glazed, his face red and flushed beneath the galaxy of freckles. He looked a little shell shocked, but broke into a smile when he focused on Harry’s face. He brought his hands up to hold Harry’s which were still locked behind his neck, squeezing slightly before bringing them between them. Ron tilted his head vaguely in the direction of the exit, displaying his desire for the two of them to leave the club. Harry complied, holding onto Ron as he lead them through the crowd, his smaller frame finding a clear path between the gyrating bodies. After a few minutes they made it out, the cool night air hitting the sweat on their skin. They walked, hands tight together, away from the club’s queue and into the quiet of the street. 

They wandered a little ways, ending up in the doorway of a closed shop. Safe from the eyes of the crowd, they faced each other.

“Harry,” Ron breathed. He seemed to lose his train of thought as he looked down into Harry’s face. He broke into a wide smile, which he tried and failed to tamp down.

“Ron,” Harry grinned back, rocking their joined hands side to side.

“Come here,” Ron said as he pulled Harry into a tight hug, his face falling naturally into the crook of Ron’s neck.

Harry sighed, relaxing into the embrace. Leaving the heat of the moment had allowed Harry’s anxiety to bubble to the surface again, thoughts turning over in his head of _mistake_ and _wrong_ and _hide_. The physical contact between him and Ron was grounding, and the fact that he wasn’t pushing Harry away also helped to settle him.

“Let’s go home, yeah?” Ron asked, pulling back to look at Harry.

Harry apparated them away.

***

The wards allowed the pair to apparate directly into their living room, both of them stumbling slightly due to their remaining intoxication. The lights automatically spelled on, a convenient charm that came with the house allowing them to navigate clearly to the sofa, each collapsing at either end. Harry took his glasses out of his pocket, unceremoniously shoving them onto his face. Although slightly tipsy, Harry had always retained a strong control of his magic, and he summoned two glasses and filled them with water. Passing one to Ron, he drank his own in one go, filled it again and sipped at it more slowly. He sighed, relaxing into the sofa, staring at Ron in the low light.  

Ron stared back. 

“So,” he began, then stopped.

“So,” Harry began to tense up again, now that he was home and safe and vulnerable, the inevitable rejection would hurt even more. 

Ron’s hand fell on Harry’s ankle, pulling him out of his head. Ron’s thumb began to move in gentle circles while he spoke.

“Don’t freak out too much on me, mate. Please try and actually listen to what I’m saying instead of just running off with assumptions? Okay?” Harry gave a small, hesitant nod.

“Okay. Now without judgement or filtering what you think is the right answer or anything,  was you kissing me tonight just a spur of the moment thing? You know you finally have a night off, a bit of adrenaline, a little bit tipsy, maybe? Because if it was-”

“No!” Harry blurts out, sitting up from his slouched position. “No, god, Ron. I wouldn’t do that to you. Drunk or not. I kissed you,” Harry’s face went warm, “because I wanted to.” 

Ron squeezed Harry’s ankle.

“Okay. Good. Thank you for telling me,” Ron smiled at Harry. “I wanted to kiss you too. But I have to ask, mate. Was it just a kiss? Or... something more, maybe?”

“I-” Harry sat up completely, banishing his glass and planting a foot on the floor, the other folded up beneath him as he faced Ron.

“Ron. I. What if I fuck this up? I mean, seriously, with my track record of doomed relationships and ongoing struggle to be an adult and I mean. I never really, consciously, knew what love was til I was _eleven,_ how am I meant to navigate the intricacies of a ‘healthy interpersonal relationship’ or whatever Hermione calls it,” Harry’s words tumbled out of him with no signs of slowing down. “What if I hurt you!? What if I ruin _everything,_ our family, our friends. Oh god. I couldn’t _live_ with myself, Ron. Honestly! And of course-”

“Harry! C’mon, mate, breathe for me. You remember how of course, in-” Ron took in an exaggerated breath, “-and out.”

Harry tried to copy him as best he can, only now just realising how worked up he had gotten. He concentrated on his breath, trying to feel his body where it made contact with the sofa, tethering him to the earth. After a couple of minutes the panic had left his body, leaving him feeling like one giant exposed nerve. He wanted to apologise to Ron - for this outburst, for being too much to handle - but knew what Healer Smith would say. “ _Your mental illness does not make you a burden, Harry. You need additional support, sure, but that’s what your family and I are here for. For you to lean on when you need help. There’s no shame in that, and there’s no apology needed.”_

“Thanks,” he said softly instead.

“Any time, mate. Do you want me closer or further away?” Ron asked, always cautious of Harry’s shifting reactions to being touched.

Harry hummed for a second, weighing up the decision. Ron and Hermione were always so good about allowing him the time and space to make choices, something which he struggled with outside the heat of the battle.

“Closer,” he admitted, feeling guilty for the confession.

Ron said nothing, moving across the sofa and pulling Harry against his chest. They sat in silence for a few moments, then Ron spoke.

“Alright, Harry?,” the responding “yes” was muffled against Ron’s jumper. “As amazing as my track record is at Divination, I can’t tell you everything is set in stone. That we won’t ever fight or get upset, or that everything will be sunshine and unicorn foals. But if what I think I heard among your anxiety is correct, that you do want a relationship, then I can tell you that it will be us in it together. Certainly not just you, and not just me. Besides, I’m not exactly a walk in the park, either.” Harry sat up, looking affronted. “Don’t even. So back to the point. You’re scared, I’m scared, but we’re doing this anyway, yeah? Have I got that right, that you want a relationship with me? And that maybe... you’re in love with me?” Ron asked quietly, his face hopeful.

Harry opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again. He nodded.

“Yeah?” Ron asked again, smiling down at Harry. “Can I kiss you?”

Harry tilted his face up towards Ron, meeting him halfway. This kiss was unhurried, a slow exploration of unfamiliar territory rather than the explosion of passion they shared on the dance floor. They separated as slowly, smiling once again at each other. Harry pressed a small peck to Ron’s cheek, looking rather pleased at his handiwork.

“What about you? What do you want out of,” Harry gestured between them, “all of this?”

Ron flushed, thinking about that time at the pub.

“Well, I want a relationship too, Harry. With you. You know I’m demi and haven’t really felt _that way_ for many people. But uh,” he rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve been attracted to you, sexually, for quite some time now. I hope that’s...okay."

“You're telling me you think I’m fit?” Harry grinned, clearly pleased at the prospect.

“Sod off,” Ron said, rolling his eyes. “Thought were having a moment, _Harold_. But yeah, I like you a lot. And I think... no. I know. I love you. Romantically, er, sexually, the whole thing. I love you. You don’t have to say it back, now, or ever. Don’t feel pressured, I mean, that’s the last thing–”

“I love you, too.”

Ron stared. 

“Sorry, Harry, run that by me again? I could’ve sworn I heard you say–”

“I love you, Ron, you daft man. In that club I was thinking about you, ‘bout us, and how much you mean to me, and how I could never, ever imagine my life without you. Because I can’t. And also how fit you are, too. And it all just... fell into place. I don’t think I allowed myself to see you that way because I was so scared. Like I said, I couldn’t live with myself if I managed to fuck this up, so I didn’t even entertain the possibility that you might want me too. But I’m sure. In my feelings, at least. Yeah.”

Ron squeezed Harry’s hand.

“Thank you for telling me, mate. And I mean, you’ve always been a bit oblivious, hmm? Who could blame you.”  

Harry tried and failed to hide his grin at the long running joke.

“So. You, me, in love, in a relationship. D’you want to be boyfriends, then? Or do you want something else? I would suggest partners, but then people would think we’re Aurors again. Sweethearts? Lovers? People who are romantically _involved,_ ” he drew out the the last word whilst wiggling his eyebrows.

“Boyfriends is fine, Ron,” Harry blushed at the thought of being Ron’s boyfriend. “Just… as long as we go slow, yeah? I know you said you’ve liked me for a while but I just don’t know what I’m ready for after everything and-”  

Ron rolled his eyes at that. “Harry, you really think me, mister one-significant-relationship-after-knowing-her-for-six-years is really going to rush things? Sweetheart, of course not. We’ll go as slow as we both need, yeah? As long as we keep talking about it, and you try to remember that you can always be honest with me, about anything. Unless you wanna talk more, how about we go to bed, you send off that owl to Smith in the morning and we go from there?”

“Yeah, I. Yeah.” Harry sighed, looking off to the side.

“Harry, sweetheart, did you want to say something? I’m more than okay staying up to talk about our relationship if you want to, but I know sometimes you get a bit ‘allergic to feelings’ as ‘Mione says.” 

Harry huffed. “I like it whenyoucallmethat,” he mumbled, still not looking at Ron.

“D’you wanna repeat that?”

“I like it. When you call me that.”

“What, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” Harry replied still looking away.

Ron squeezed Harry’s hand again, knowing better than to make light of Harry actually vocalising his desires.

“Okay, love, thank you for telling me. Let’s go to bed, yeah?” 

Harry looked up, mildly surprised that Ron didn’t take the opportunity to tease him. He pouted, sticking his lips out in a clear desire for a kiss. Ron indulged him, meeting halfway and kissing him softly. They parted, Ron kissing Harry on the forehead before leading him by their still joined hands up the stairs.

***

Ron showered first, and quickly. Years of fighting with his siblings had gotten his shower routine down to its ultimate efficient form, even years after he had left home. He was glad to have the club smell/sweat/miscellaneous stickiness off of him at last, and once dressed in a pair of pajama bottoms he went to tidy his bedroom. He had been arguing with himself whether to change the sheets or if that implied something about his intentions when Harry called to him from the bathroom. 

Ron stuck his head into the hallway to hear him better. “What?”

“Come here!”

He walked the short way down the hall, stopping in front of the bathroom. 

“Harry?”

“Can you open the door? Don’t come in! Just. I don’t want to be alone right now,” he admitted.

Ron did as asked, standing awkwardly in the doorway as he watched Harry’s silhouette against the opaque shower curtain.

“Do you want me to... do anything?” he asked, slightly baffled by the request.

“Could you talk to me for a bit?”

“‘Course, love. Did I tell you about the new product George is trying to convince me will be the next big hit? Because, honestly, he may be a creative genius sometimes but this is truly off his rocker–” Ron leaned against the door, filling the silence for the next few minutes as Harry finished up. He was soon done, and Ron made a move to return to the bedroom, very conscious about respecting Harry’s privacy. Harry stopped him, just asking him to close his eyes while he got dressed.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable–”

“I trust you. I’m sure,” Ron closed his open mouth with a click.

Once Harry was dressed in a long sleeved top and tight black boxer briefs, he walked over to Ron, leaning up into his space without touching.

“You can open your eyes now,” he said, smiling up at him. Harry raised himself up on the balls of his feet so that he could look at Ron directly. He stared for a few moments, tilting his chin forward in the clear desire for a kiss. Their lips met gently, separating only after a few moments.

“Thanks,” Harry’s feet fell back to the floor. He turned away, approaching the sink to brush his teeth. Ron hesitated in the doorway a moment, then walked up to face the mirror.

“Can I?” he asked, his arms open and around Harry, but not touching him.

Harry grinned around his toothbrush, his mouth surrounded in foamy toothpaste. Ron’s arms wrapped around his middle, warm and comforting in the cold light of the bathroom. They stayed like that for a minute, neither talking, both reveling in the fact that they could be with each other like this, just this. Harry finished up, and Ron grabbed his hand, leading him to the bedroom. When he reached the door he paused, suddenly shy now that they had said so much out loud.

“You don’t have to. I mean. I want you to but. No pressure, or anything. I wouldn’t expect you to. It’s just. Yeah,” Ron finished lamely, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“I’m too tired to address...whatever that was. Ron, I’ll sleep where I want. Right now that’s with you. We can talk about the rest of that in the-” Harry yawned, “-morning. C’mon.” With that, Harry stepped around Ron and into the room, leaving him in the hallway.

By the time Ron got a hold of himself and entered his bedroom Harry was already lying under the duvet, glasses off and eyes half closed. Casting a quick tempus, Ron realised they had been up later than he thought. Still early by a lot of people’s standards, but both he and Harry had been homebodies for quite some time. It probably didn’t help that Harry was already close to exhaustion Ron thought as he got into bed next to Harry.

Harry dimmed the lights, setting his wand to the side and sinking into the pillows. Staring at the ceiling, he reached out the hand closest to Ron, leaving it in the centre of the mattress. Taking the hint, Ron rolled over to his side, reaching out to Harry.

“Sweetheart, come here,” he murmured, fitting Harry against him. Ron gave a contented sigh. “So good for me. So good.”

Harry melted into the touch, feeling so safe and content in Ron’s arms. For once, sleep came easy. His exhausted and relaxed state allowing him to sleep well through the night.

***

The light from the windows danced on the wall opposite Harry and he slowly became aware of his surroundings. The soft warmth of the blankets, the heat at his back, the strong arms around his waist and stomach. Oh. Ron. _Ron._ The night before rushed back to him in an instant - the dancing, the kiss, their conversations. It was dizzying, overwhelming how much he was filled with love. How much he loved Ron and how much he was loved in return. He wanted to shout it from the roof of the Astronomy Tower, put it on the front page of The Prophet, tattoo it across his forehead for everyone to stare at instead. Harry Potter loves Ron Weasley. He also wanted to spend the next week in bed with nothing but Ron for his own, crawl into him and know nothing but the oneness of their breaths. Harry felt it all.

Ron groggily woke up, never one to end sleep voluntarily. He curled closer into Harry, not wanting to end such a wonderful dream. Harry loved him back, and they kissed, and they were together. It felt so real, like he really was a warm presence in Ron’s bed, not just a figment of wishful thinking. He sighed, arguing with himself over how much he really needed to use the bathroom or whether he could stay in bed a bit longer. Ron had just convinced himself to use the lavatory but keep his eyes to preserve his sleepiness when a sound pierced his semi-consciousness, drawing him out into the world of the living.

Merlin. Harry _was_ here, and what Ron dreamed _was_ real, and Harry was... crying? Shit _._

“Sweetheart, hey, Harry, love, what’s wrong?” Ron sat up, looking over at Harry whose hands were scrunched against the blankets, as he cried almost silently into the sheets.

Though Ron was always careful about touching Harry and getting his permission, the fact that Harry remained in bed instead of fleeing like he usually did when overcome with emotion said a lot. Ron felt cautiously optimistic as he sat up properly, and gently pulled Harry into his lap. Harry was still half-turned away as Ron rocked him back and forth slightly, whispering endearments into Harry’s hair.

Soon Harry stopped crying and he settled down, turning so he could straddle Ron’s lap properly. His glasses-free face was still wet with tears, and his hair looked like he’d gone several rounds with a pixie. Despite this he didn’t look too upset. He was, in fact, smiling; and he looked just as lovely to Ron as when he was forced to put on designer robes for Ministry functions. Gorgeous, and completely Ron’s. Ron’s hands swept down from Harry’s back to his waist as they looked at each other.

“You want to tell me what that was about, love? You don’t seem that upset, well, besides these,” Ron rubbed his thumb down Harry’s cheek, tracking the tears. Harry leaned unconsciously into the touch, seeking him out like moth to a flame.

“I’m… happy?” Harry hypothesised, laughing slightly at his foolishness. “I woke up and I just felt so much _everything_ . I’m so happy and in love and scared and relieved. I thought to myself _this is how I want to wake, always, forever_ and it was just a lot to take after the past few weeks so,” he sniffled, rubbing his hand across his face. “I guess it seems pretty silly, huh?”

Ron brought Harry even closer to him, pulling him in at the hips where his large hands rested.

“No, Harry, not silly at all. Can I-” Harry didn’t let him finish the question, meeting him in a kiss.

Their lips connected in wet heat, soon opening for their tongues to slide against each other Harry flushed all over, not solely from embarrassment this time. Now fully awake and sober desire sunk low and hot into his belly, reverberating through his limbs. He felt on fire with want, the points of skin to skin contact where Ron was rubbing circles into his hips below his shirt was electric. His large hands, sure and rough from shop work and chores felt delicious. Though passionate, their kisses weren’t rushed, Ron’s tongue thoroughly mapping the inside of Harry’s mouth.

Harry couldn’t suppress his quiet moan as he grinded down onto Ron, whose growing erection was barely concealed in his loose sleep trousers. He could hardly believe that he was allowed to do this, and all he wanted to do was press impossibly closer to Ron’s bare freckled chest, to be held in his arms so tightly that they fused together. They both lost themselves in it - thoughts of breakfast or letter writing or mature adult conversations gone from their minds.

Ron barely kept control with such a gorgeous man sat on his lap. Harry’s steady movements and the sweet sounds that left his lips nearly drove him into a fever. He knew, despite Harry’s obvious arousal, that he wouldn’t want their first time together to be like this. That they were both too caught up in the moment to really have presence of mind. Summoning all the strength he had, Ron drew back from the kiss and brushed his lips over Harry’s cheek, making his way down his neck.

Harry made a sound of disappointment, his forehead crinkled as he looked down at a hunched Ron. His disappointment quickly transformed into a loud whimper, no longer hindered by the other’s lips. Ron pressed wet kisses into the side of Harry’s neck, his hands coming up to cradle his back and tangle in his hair.

“Ron…,” Harry moaned, going boneless in Ron’s lap and closing his eyes. “Please.”

Ron detached himself from Harry’s neck, looking down at him again. He rubbed his thumb over Harry’s cheek below his fluttering eyelashes.

“Hmm?”

Harry’s eyes opened slightly, hazy and unfocused. He exhaled, pressed his face more firmly into Ron’s hand and blinked a few times.

“Please?” Harry’s voice took on a whining tone.

The fingers of Ron’s other hand brushed the side of Harry’s neck that he had just been kissing, so delicately that the skin burst into goosebumps.

“Yeah?” Ron grinned, “You want me to bite you?”

Harry moaned and nodded in response, too far gone with pleasure to form coherent words. Ron went back, kissing the brown skin once more before biting down. Gently at first, to ensure that this is what Harry wanted, before biting and sucking in earnest.

Harry nearly screamed. Although most of his relationships up until now left much to be desired on the emotional side, he had spent a great deal of time learning what he enjoyed sexually. It had never felt like this, though. He was almost out of his mind, his skin slick with sweat and his pants nearly soaked through with pre-cum. He had stopped rocking back and forth, mindful of the fact that if he continued one or both of them would probably come all too soon. Ron continued sucking on his neck, drawing the blood to the surface in what was sure to be a massive bruise. It felt right, to be taken like this. To be marked in such an undeniable way. He was completely Ron’s, nowhere else he would rather be than at his mercy like this. Ron eased up, licking over the mark and nipping slightly before drawing back, facing him again. Harry smiled up at Ron, the dopamine flooding his body leaving him giggly.

“Hi,” he said as he bumped his nose into Ron’s, laughing a little when they collided.

“Hi, yourself,” Ron looked fondly at Harry.

“As much as I would love to keep you and your gorgeous arse in my bed for the rest of the day,” Ron squeezed Harry’s bottom for effect, “I think we might need to do some more adults things like eat breakfast, brush teeth, send letters, and discuss... limits?” he asked uncertainly, finger circling the fresh love bite on Harry’s neck. Harry blushed, growing aware of how fast he had sunken down, and all from a bit of snogging.

“Yeah, uh, sounds good.”

“Good.” Ron leaned in and gave him a softer, sweeter kiss.

***

It was hard - metaphorically and literally - to ease up on the intoxicating kisses that they had been sharing. They were both aware of how new their relationship was, and that it wasn’t going to be just a quick shag. So despite the awkwardness, Harry and Ron got up and out of bed, puttering around the house but somehow never more than a few metres from each other. Harry pointedly ignored Ron’s erection, himself slipping away at the earliest possible moment to change his pants. Eventually they both calmed enough to settle down to breakfast.

Ron was mixing up pancake batter while Harry sat on top of the counter, legs swinging back and forth as he attempted to compose his letter to Healer Smith. Ron left him him to write it, knowing how hard it still was for Harry to ask for help. To prevent him from completely losing his nerve, Ron had taken to kissing Harry’s forehead whenever it got too furrowed. By the time Harry finished with the letter and attached it to his owl, Ron had served up the pancakes at the kitchen island. Harry had frozen by the window, his hands gripped the frame as he star at the spot where Aurelia had flown off. Ron stepped off to the side, mindful of how he reacted to being snuck up on.

“Harry?”

Harry startled, looking shocked at Ron’s sudden appearance. He stared, then shoved himself into Ron’s arms, his glasses squished between Ron’s chest and his face. He was trembling, but his face remained dry.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Ron spoke softly, rubbing wide circles into Harry’s back. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Mrrph.”

“What was that?”

Harry didn’t move an inch, only moving his face upwards so he was looking at Ron while still pressed against his chest.

“Thanks.”

“I love you, Harry. There’s nothing to thank me for.”

“I love you, too,” he replied softly.

“Cmon, the pancakes will get cold if we stand here any longer. I didn’t charm them,” Ron gave Harry another squeeze, then led him by the hand to sit down.

Breakfast passed in comfortable discussion of work and gossip, holding hands as Ron used his left to eat. It wasn’t that different to how they usually had breakfast together, comfortable and domestic. The only change now was that they could exchange syrupy kisses whenever they wanted, no longer having to restrain their affection. Harry was high on how much he was allowed to touch Ron. Ron had always maintained that Harry could bestow his affections however he wanted, but he could never quite escape the undercurrent of guilt and shame that was associated with being intimate with a male friend.

Harry’s experience of accepting his bisexuality hadn’t been easy - despite now being surrounded by accepting friends and family, he had always internalised far too much. That tangled into his problems with touch and his body and affection and intimacy and _want_ , always feeling like he was breaking the rules, that it wasn’t permitted, that he was being selfish. Needy. Clingy. Being able to be here in the kitchen of his home, touching the man he loved and being able, allowed, encouraged to kiss him whenever he wanted to? Harry was in heaven. 

They eventually finished their luxurious Sunday brunch, after Ron went back for thirds and Harry drank a whole pot of tea. Harry stood to put the dishes in the sink - although having no intention to wash them now, he still preferred a tidy kitchen - when Ron floated them out of his hands. In retaliation, Ron ended up with a lapful of handsome wizard. 

Harry had his arms folded, looking down at Ron over the top of his glasses. He tried to look serious and upset with what Ron had just done but failed miserably. How could he, looking at Ron’s gorgeous face? The floppy hair, the scattering of freckles, his beatific smile as he looked up at Harry. Harry poked his tongue out, setting them both off into giggles. He fell forward into Ron, their foreheads meeting with a slight crack, spurring on more laughter. Harry’s arms uncrossed and wrapped around Ron’s neck, Ron encouraging him to get even closer by pulling on his arse.

“I’m beginning to suspect you have quite a thing for my arse, Ron Weasley,” Harry teased.

“I have _quite a thing,_ Harry Potter, for every,” he kissed Harry’s face, “single,” another kiss, “bit of you. Including, but not limited to, your gorgeous arse. Alright?”

Harry felt tears come to his eyes as he smiled even wider. He was filled with so much love.

“Yeah. Alright.”

**Author's Note:**

> Ron's experience of being demisexual and Harry's experience of anxiety/depression are inspired from my own life. Healer Smith is named after my first psychologist. I'm also non-binary, and always try to include trans characters where I can. The rest is pure fiction and I fudged a lot to make things work.
> 
> I have a whole Harry/Ron series in the works that has the working title of "non-sexual intimacy fics", so please subscribe if you think that would be something you're interested in!
> 
> As always if you enjoyed this fic, please let me know! Regardless of when this fic was posted, I read every single comment and would love to hear your thoughts.
> 
> EDIT: Thank you all so so much for 100 kudos!


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